


Deep Wells

by JustAnotherGhostwriter



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Charity and Phillip get mentions because Phin and Anne love them, Dehydration, Exhaustion, Found Family, Gen, Hurt P. T. Barnum, Post-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherGhostwriter/pseuds/JustAnotherGhostwriter
Summary: An accident has befallen the circus and, true to form, Barnum is on the frontlines of the cleanup and restoration crew. The problem is that he still doesn't know when to quit to take care of himself. The Wheeler siblings accidentally get the dubious honour of helping their boss through the consequences of his lack of self-care.





	Deep Wells

**Author's Note:**

> For [gay_jeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_jeans), who over on Tumblr asked for "any sort of hurt/comfort/angsty Phin with some Anne and/or W. D.?" 
> 
> My dude, I would have been so happy to write you a thing anyway. The fact that I get to do it while being obnoxious about my love for P.T. dad-ing everybody, including these precious Wheelers, just made my heart do happy jumps. (The smile W.D. gives when Barnum starts on the chorus of _From Now On_. Pls help my smol heart.) One day (not today, obviously) I will be able to train myself into making a “drabble” only around 1000 words.
> 
> Posted on Tumblr 02 November, 2018. 
> 
> **Content warning:** Allusions to racism, discrimination and sexual harassment; pretty detailed mentions of symptoms of dehydration and exhaustion.

As intense and focussed as her brother was about most aspects of life, Anne was the one more likely to get engrossed in an act and lose track of time. W.D. was assiduous, but had learned through a lifetime of work to also be sensitive to time-management and the people around him. When they trained together, they did so in a well-oiled balance of pushing each other’s limits and watching each other’s backs, focused on nothing else until W.D. determined they’d done enough for the day. Without her brother around, Anne lost herself to the familiarity of the sky; the calm-danger and the satisfying fatigue that pulled her mind out of reality and into the world she could control.

 

When she finally remembered the real world surrounded her, it was _far_ later than she’d intended to leave the circus. She dressed hastily, partly because she was late and partly because the half-fallen, eerily quiet circus made her feel sad and a little lonely on the inside. The summer air was still just the side of uncomfortably hot, even as the sunset streaked the sky to a hundred colours Anne would usually love to stop and look at. Voices carried to her and she glanced over automatically, finding Constantine and Barnum still among the debris and rubble, the former half-heartedly kicking at some smaller chunks of concrete. Deciding that a few more minutes wouldn’t affect her lateness either way, Anne approached them to have a word before she left.

 

Her going was cautious; for all the progress the men had made in the past three days, there was still a lot to trip over, and the basket on her arm was full of goods that would not survive a fall. The building had been an old structure, beaten down to something resembling a tower, that had stood just to the side of where they’d pitched their circus tent and put their caravans. Some of the troupe had wanted to use it for practising or for keeping some of the animal feed, but after taking one look at it, Phillip had overrode them and told them all to keep away from it. And, to everybody’s credit, they _had_ kept clear of it. Which had done nothing at all to keep it from collapsing, completely without warning, collapsing a third of their tent and some caravans in the process.

 

Luckily, nobody had been inside the tent or the crushed caravans at the time. But it did force the circus to have to close down while people shifted and carted the rubble so that they could begin looking at repairing the tent and replacing the caravans. It was just about the worst time for something like that to happen; warm, long summer nights were supposed to be when the circus did its most business. Phillip was worried about the numbers and the repercussions, even though he was being told, from many people, that his only current concern should be getting over the bad cold he’d caught about a week ago. Barnum had taken to ignoring his telegrams for his own good, a fact that Phillip grumbled about to Anne every time she visited. But she was on Barnum’s side, for this one, and told Phillip only the bare minimum, refusing to indulge the side of him that wanted to lie awake and fret about every detail he could yet do nothing about.

 

Although… looking at Barnum’s stature as he spoke with Constantine, Anne half wished _somebody_ was able to take on some more of the load. There was something missing from the ringmaster’s posture that had nothing to do with the fact that he was covered in dirt and sweat and some rubble, in a torn shirt that was rolled up as far as it would go and no tie. Barnum always had an _aura_ about him that she did not feel when she approached then. And whenever Barnum lost his spark, worry automatically started gnawing in Anne’s stomach. She tried to tell herself that it was only because he, too, was anxious to get the circus back in action again, and had to do it with very little help. As soon as it became apparent that they’d be out of commission for a while, Barnum had called everybody together and had told them, seriously, that he would not begrudge them getting temporary work elsewhere. Summer jobs were ripe for the picking, and would ensure that they got paid until the circus once again made money. Many of the troupe had taken him up on the offer, leaving Barnum and a select few – many of whom were denied employment simply because they were too obviously _oddities –_ to do all of the rubble clearing themselves.

 

“I think maybe three loaves, if you can,” Barnum was telling Constantine. “Charles eats like an entire herd of horses. I have no _idea_ where he puts it all.”

 

Constantine chuckled good-naturedly before promising to get the bread, and a side of ham as well. He and Charles were two of those who had been unable to find work, and who were currently sleeping in the Barnum’s small, cosy living room until their trailers could be replaced. From what Anne could tell from the stories, Helen and Caroline were beside themselves with joy at the arrangements.

 

Constantine clapped Barnum on the shoulder in farewell, and greeted Anne as he left, drawing Barnum’s attention to her. His greeting was warmly surprised, but _,_ like his stance, lacked the usual buoyancy and passion. There was a piece of rubble in his wild, dirt-whitened curls that Anne had to resist picking out for him.

 

“Heading to Phillip’s?” he guessed, some of the _offness_ of his face vanishing under the teasing twinkle in his eye. He’d been gently needling her with jokes about her nursing Phillip magically back to health and making him not want to sleep because she was better than dreams since Phillip had first fallen ill. But, this time, when she grinned and told him she was _not_ returning to Phillip for the day, Barnum didn’t launch into a high-spirited jaunt. Instead, he just asked, “Heading home, then? Well. To Lettie’s.”

 

“Not quite yet. Promised W.D. I’d bring him some good food this afternoon. He says the food out there is as terrible as anything.”

 

Barnum gave a small, soft laugh. “I’ll bet it is. But…” He glanced at the sky and frowned, deeply. “It’s getting dark…”

 

“I know. I lost track of time.”

 

Barnum, still frowning, looked back at her. “I’ll come with you.” She started to protest – he was tired after working hard since the afternoon shift started, it was rather far to go, his wife was waiting – but Barnum shook his head, face serious and expression stubborn. “No, Anne. You’re not walking down that path by yourself. Especially not when its dark.” Anne pursed her lips, but she was sensible enough to know that Barnum was right. No cabs went all the way out to where W.D. was working and staying for the time being, and the last stretch that had to be walked was often full of people who were less than savoury even in broad daylight and mostly sober. Barnum nodded at her sighed thanks. “Please just give me a few moments to change. I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

 

Phillip and he had worked out a schedule that kept Barnum part of the circus, but with plenty of time to spend with his family as well. And he and Charity had filled that family time with the seemingly endless small things that cropped up in a household on a day-to-day basis. When Phillip had fallen ill, Charity – like the godsend she was – had taken a large portion of his family responsibilities so that he could take on Phillip’s work until the other ringmaster was well again.

 

But even with Charity being magnificent, Barnum found there were too few hours in the normal waking day to fulfil all he had to do, especially since he was picking up things that required him to spend almost more time deciphering and learning how to do than actually doing it. So he’d simply made his waking day slightly longer; had gone to bed later and had risen earlier and had spurred himself on with the promises of proper sleep again very soon.

 

And then that building had collapsed.

 

He couldn’t remember how much sleep he’d gotten in the past week, really – hadn’t let himself keep track – but he _knew_ he was running off an absurdly low amount in the past three days. It was simply _necessary;_ Caroline and Helen and Charity were still a priority, as was the running of the circus, even if it wasn’t currently operational. And then there were the guests in his home that were wonderful to have but _did_ add more work and practical implications. And he could not leave the few who remained to clear rubble on their own; he slipped away only as long as he needed to do other work or to make the morning shift think he’d gone home, and then he appeared for the afternoon shift as though that were his first time working with them that day. It was _his_ circus. He would pull his weight to get their home and business back as soon as humanly possible.

 

Barnum vaguely remembered dragging himself back to his tent every evening after a day of working on the rail roads feeling tired, hungry and maybe a little elements-buffeted. Perhaps he’d forgotten, over the years, what it had really felt like. Or perhaps he really _was_ getting old. Either way, right then he wasn’t just _slightly_ tired or the type of sore that came from good physical activity over a period of time. He felt like he was going to fall asleep at any moment, right there on his feet. His hands felt too big, too clumsy and far too sluggish. His head was stuffed full of feathers and thumping painfully at the same time and every single muscle in his body seemed to positively _yowl_ in pain.

 

It hurt to lift his arms to take off his shirt, and hurt even more when he had to peel it away from where sweat had stuck it to his skin. He attempted to fold it, failed, and simply let it drop to the floor of the office, which was luckily one of the caravans that had come out unscathed. He reached for the clean shirt he’d brought, and the world tipped sickeningly around him, causing him to stagger against the wall. And then he just… stayed there, forehead and shoulders and palms pressed against the wood, eyes refusing to stay open, head buzzing and pounding. It felt good. It felt like he could simply stay there forever. Not moving. Not thinking. Not opening his eyes and trying to make sense of what was up or down or…

 

_Anne_ , his mind reminded him some indeterminable time later.

 

Barnum couldn’t help but groan as he forced himself upright, muscles protesting and head pounding even harder. But he couldn’t just stand there. Anne couldn’t walk alone. And, after Anne, he had Charity and Helen and Caroline and dinner and guests and then two letters to write, three more to read and possibly reply to and _then_ … then sleep. Curled up beside Charity in their nice, soft bed. Even the one they’d once had in the mansion couldn’t compare to his current bed, the way he thought of it right then. And he’d be one step closer to it if he just got going.

 

There hadn’t even been much water to drink since yesterday afternoon, let alone any to waste on a quick wash, so Barnum simply pulled a new shirt on, tried to make himself look slightly more presentable, and then made his way back to Anne. His legs felt wobbly, and he found himself stumbling over pieces of debris more than once. Anne, watching the sunset, thankfully didn’t notice.

 

“Apologies,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m afraid changing did very little to make me look presentable, and absolutely nothing for the smell.”

 

Anne’s laugh warmed something in him; enough so that he managed not to wince when she took his offered arm and held on a little too hard, making his muscles clench in protest and pain.

 

“The smell of good, honest work will never deter me, Mr Barnum.”

 

He didn’t have to work very hard to give her a smile; Anne pulled happiness and affection from people by simply engaging with them.

 

“Perhaps you’ve just been spending too much time around the animals,” he suggested. “It has altered your sense of smell.”

 

She laughed at him, didn’t seem to notice when he winced at how even that pleasant sound knocked against the inside of his head painfully, and then began walking with him to the street to catch a carriage.

 

* * *

 

If she hadn’t spent as much time around Barnum in quieter settings – such as the night they’d been watching the stars and Caroline and Helen had fallen asleep on each of them respectively, trapping them in place for a while – she wouldn’t have thought he could be as quiet as he was during the carriage ride. Anne had been the one to suggest they answer Barnum’s advert – if the world saw them as freaks, they may as well try to make a living within those boundaries placed around them – but she’d also been the most hesitant when they’d actually been given the job. Barnum was gregarious and larger than life but although he spoke to them as equals, Anne had thought for a long  time that it was as much an act as the rest of it. The first time Barnum had put a hand on her waist she thought she’d known exactly where things were going – she knew friends from back home who had been killed for less than pushing away a white man when he decided he wanted to claim them for himself – but Barnum had only been guiding her away from some incoming props and had let go and then said something cheerful before bounding off. It had been the first of many moments when Barnum had gently won her over.

 

Now, the way he usually teased her, asked after her, placed a palm on the top of her head, danced with her on the nights the troupe went out together, was the way he treated Helen and Caroline. The way he gave her a hand down from the carriage and looped his arm through hers was the way he treated every lady he came across, except perhaps Charity, who got his arm around her waist more often than not. They passed a group of rowdy men, who made comments about her and then about what they thought Barnum had her on his arm for. He shielded her automatically with his body, standing firm and making her walk on ahead of him so he could keep a wary, silent, disapproving eye on him. She even thought, once her arm slipped back into his, that he was shaking slightly. But when she asked, concerned about that and the way he stumbled over what was presumably a rock a moment later, he simply waved her off with a tired smile.

 

And that was a large part of the reason it hurt when, as they neared the sight of a flickering fire and the sound of talking and laughing men, Barnum stopped, took his arm from hers, leaned against a tree and mumbled that he’d wait there for her to return. Surprised, Anne tried once to get him to come along. Barnum would not meet her eyes, hanging his head so that the night cast shadows across his face. Anne felt shame, embarrassment and a twinge of betrayal knife across her and pull her face into a purse-lipped expression, and she marched off without another word.

 

By the time she reached the large group of mostly dark-skinned men, the initial sting from the surprise had worn off, and she was starting to try and see things from Barnum’s point of view. The group of strangers were intimidating, even to her, and she supposed even a man like _Barnum_ had his limits. He’d grown tremendously since the tumble that had been the Lind fiasco, but… _but_. Perhaps she was presuming; maybe it was a politeness thing or something else. She’d talk to him about it, later, after she’d shared her thoughts with Lettie, and until then Anne refused to let her assumptions cause the bitterness and hurt to curdle her affection for their ringmaster.

 

The mostly good-natured calls that greeted her arrival allowed her to put Barnum to the back of her mind, for the moment. She held her head high, refusing to blush or squirm, and calmly asked for W.D. When he arrived, telling them all that she was his sister, and that she was already in a courtship, most of the jeering died down. The little that was left was good-natured, and Anne found herself relaxing somewhat even as her brother formed a protective, if small, barrier between her and the rest of the men. They told each other about their days, briefly, and then she berated him for pulling a face when she mentioned that there was cabbage in the basket of food she’d brought for him, not letting up until he sullenly promised he’d eat it.

 

“I don’t like the idea of you walking back by yourself,” he said, after he’d packed away the basket and teasingly threatened the other men who jokingly acted as though they’d steal the goods while he was gone. “It’s dark out.”

 

“Barnum came with me,” Anne explained.

 

W.D.’s eyebrows raised. “And he just… left you here? Alone?” His tone was puzzled.

 

Anne hesitated for a beat and then, keeping her tone casual said, “No, he’s waiting for me just over there.”

 

She knew W.D. well enough to be able to read the subtle shifts of emotion on his face, and some of the things that flashed there made her sad and increasingly angry at Barnum all at once. Her brother’s shoulders set back, and he muttered something about going to say hello, then, and started in the direction she’d indicated. Anne followed, feeling slightly hollow with both her own emotions and those of her brother. Barnum had a special kind of relationship with every member of the troupe, and for a while she hadn’t really understood his and W.D.’s dynamics. It wasn’t obvious like Barnum and Phillip or even Barnum and Charles, but there had been a quiet sort of intensity there from the first moment. Her brother, she knew, was as quietly intense and pertinacious about his relationships as he was about everything else, but he was also not one to articulate his feelings openly, even with her. She’d finally understood – with absolute, chest-churning clarity – the night he’d quietly called the circus their home and family.

 

They’d met a lot of people in their lives, and, despite the transient nature of their growing-up years, some of those friends had become good friends. Close friends. Friends W.D. would still consider brothers, even though he hadn’t seen them in a while and possibly never would again. Some circumstances and shared understandings just bred a kinship that lasted, especially in the hearts of intense, stalwart people like her brother. But in all their travelling, in all their family-creating, in all the people Anne had gotten who had mothered and sistered and brothered her, W.D. had been very careful never to call a space _home_. It would hurt them both too much to leave it, if he had. The circus had been the first place; the place he gave his heart to even while knowing the move could return said heart broken. The circus had been the very first place W.D., with his many years of friends and enemies and brothers and even mothers, had found somebody who could tentatively, softly, gently, slip into the whispered role of _father_. Neither of them had ever talked about it, because Anne was as scared as W.D. was that it would break. But… Barnum treated her like Caroline and Helen. And he and W.D… She didn’t have to understand the nuances of the relationship between Barnum and her brother to _know_ what it was, and to know how much it needed to be protected.

 

So she marched behind her brother’s stiff-backed form with trepidation, because there were so many reasons she didn’t want W.D. to have to confront _this_ sort of thing from _Barnum_. And she wished that it was a few days ago, instead, when W.D. had been swinging Helen around, laughing, and Barnum had mock-tackled him for ‘attempting to steal his daughter’. They’d tousled on the ground like children, laughing the whole time, and W.D. had scampered off with Barnum’s hat as his victory prize, looking impish at his own childish audacity.

 

“Barnum,” W.D. called to the figure Anne saw seated on the ground, back against the tree. Her brother’s voice was not particularly friendly. Barnum didn’t respond. “Hey, Barnum,” W.D. said again.

 

Still no response; not even a twitch. And something cold and heavy began to trickle down into Anne’s chest. She quickened her step, realising only when W.D. reached Barnum before her that he’d done the same. W.D. said Barnum’s name one more time, reaching out to shake the man’s shoulder. This time, Barnum did look up, but the movements of his head were uncoordinated and sloppy.

 

“W.D.,” he said, sounding breathless. Anne crouched as close as she could to try and see his face in the darkness, but everything was shadowed. “I… must have… Is it time for the show?”

 

Anne caught her brother’s eye, alarm rising like a wave inside of her. “Barnum,” W.D. said, slowly, “are you messing with us?”

 

“Hmm?” Barnum said, vaguely, still seemingly unable to catch breath.

 

“Mr Barnum,” Anne said, instinctively reaching for Barnum’s wrist. “Do you know where we are, right now?”

 

There was a beat that lasted too long. “In… my office?”

 

Worry was starting to turn to something sharper and louder, cloying around Anne’s gut and chest and head. She looked desperately at her older brother, but what she could see of his face looked as alarmed and lost as she felt. Desperately, she searched for something to say or do; something to explain what was happening.

 

“Can… are you… did we just _have_ a show?” Barnum mumbled, words slurring slightly. “I feel…” He paused and tried to drag in some deep breaths. He groaned, making Anne’s heart clench. “I don’t…”

 

Anne leaned forward and placed her ear against his chest, trying to listen to his lungs in case there was something obviously the matter. She wasn’t sure what she would do if there _was,_ but she knew she couldn’t just sit around and do _nothing_. But she never got to hear about his lungs – the loud, unnatural thudding of Barnum’s heart completely distracted her.

 

“W.D.” She suddenly felt numb with fear. “W.D., his heart… It’s…” The too-fast, too-strange rhythm kicked a little beneath her ear, and she heard Barnum groan against his will, and then struggle to draw breath. “Get help, get help, get help,” she said, fear causing her words to stumble into one another.

 

W.D. was gone within a moment, shooting off into the dark, heedless of watching for things that would try and trip him. Anne gripped Barnum’s hand, tightly, and felt him suddenly stroke a thumb against her wrist.

 

“’ne? What’s… wr…ong?”

 

She forced a smile for him, even though she wasn’t sure he’d see it, in the darkness. “Everything’s going to be fine, Mr Barnum. Just hold on.”

 

Barnum was quiet, and Anne was left in the quiet dark with her own thoughts and hammering heart. She wished Phillip was there. Or Charity or Lettie – those two women always knew how to make everything better. And they always knew how to get Barnum to stop pushing things – including himself – too far. And that was just the problem, wasn’t it? Phillip, Charity and Lettie hadn’t been around in the past few days. And those who had been – like _her_ , damnit, like _her –_ hadn’t noticed anything at all was wrong with Barnum. And now he was struggling to breathe beside her, his heart nowhere near normal rhythm.

 

It seemed like an age before W.D. came trotting back, followed by a man whose white hair gleamed in the moonlight. He explained he’d been a doctor’s slave, and had picked up enough to be of help. He listened to Barnum’s heart and breathing while W.D. and Anne hovered anxiously, hands twined as though they were kids again. It had been a long time since she’d seen her brother that afraid. The man asked Barnum what else was hurting, and Anne felt her throat choke up when Barnum groaned back an _everything_. A few more prods and pokes and quiet questions, and the man looked up to find the Wheeler siblings.

 

“Get this man water,” he said, his accent a strange mash of things Anne couldn’t quite identify. “A lot of it.”

 

“But what’s _wrong_ with him?” Anne demanded.

 

“He didn’t get none water,” the man said, voice gentle. “None sleep, neither, by the looks of things. None water and none sleep makes a body do all sortsa strange things.” He glanced at W.D. “ _Quickly,_ ” he stressed, and W.D. snapped out of his gaze and once again began running.

 

“Wanna sleep,” Barnum slurred at the man when notice of Barnum’s drooping eyelids caused him to tap Barnum sharply in the face. “Tired.”

 

Anne watched the darkness, silently willing W.D. to appear from it, and clutched Barnum’s hand tighter. “I know, Mr Barnum. I know. You’ll be able to, soon. But you first have to drink something. Please?”

 

Barnum started to answer and then groaned, lifting one, shaking hand to his chest. Anne’s heart twisted as well, and the older man began murmuring and poking and prodding. The night was full with insects and Barnum’s harsh breathing and occasional half-bitten-off moans of pain, and although it wasn’t nearly as loud as the circus usually was, Anne felt like it was suffocating. Where was her brother? Would _water_ really help Barnum? He was slipping further and further away from them, still unable to breathe, still with a heart skipping beats, and had once broken his silence to ask who the other people in the distance were. Anne and the man had told him there was nobody, and he had been as perturbed that they _didn’t_ see the people as they were that he _was_ seeing them when they didn’t exist.

 

Finally, W.D. wobbled into view, carrying a large pail that he was studiously trying not to spill from. The old man dipped the cup W.D. had brought along into the water, and tried to coax Barnum into drinking. When he refused, Anne joined in, half pleading and half goading until Barnum took a sip. Once the water had gone down, his brain seemed to catch on to what the old man was telling him about needing water, and he drained the entire cup in greedy gulps. The old man gave him another, but refused his request for a third.

 

“Wait a couplea minutes, then repeat. Don’t do it all together.” He stood back, and W.D. settled on Barnum’s other side. The old man cocked his head. “You gone finished all your water rations today,” the man told W.D., sounding curious. “Where’d you get the extra?”

 

“I bought it,” W.D. said, calmly, meeting his gaze steadily.

 

“You didn’t take money from him,” the old man countered.

 

“I used my own. From what they paid us yesterday.” He paused for a moment and then said, sternly, “I _didn’t_ steal it.”

 

It was too dark to properly read the old man’s expression. “You spent wages. _Your_ wages. On this… on _him_?” His tone was a mixture of surprised and darkly incredulous. “What’s he to you?”

 

W.D. didn’t answer, straight backed and hard-eyed. After a moment, the old man muttered something and made his leave. Anne and W.D. both quietly thanked him, but did not watch him go back to the fire.

 

“Pay you back,” Barnum mumbled between them.

 

“Barnum, shut up and breathe,” W.D. answered him, calmly, relaxing his defensive posture and leaning against the tree Barnum was still slumped against.

 

They gave him another cup of water some time later, Anne holding it when it became apparent that Barnum’s hands were too unsteady to do so. Once he’d finished, Barnum laboriously slipped away from the tree so he could half-lie and half-collapse on the ground.

 

“You can’t sleep here,” Anne tried to protest. Barnum simply hummed at her. “Mr Barnum…”

 

“Hurts already,” he said, his breathing slightly better. “May as well.”

 

“What hurts?” Anne enquired at once, scooting closer and trying to get a look at his face. His eyes were closed. W.D. shook Barnum’s shoulder when he didn’t reply.

 

“Everything,” Barnum muttered back, a little testily, and then sighed. “Muscles are all sore. Just… can I please sleep?”

 

“Not yet,” W.D. said, firmly. “You need to drink more, first. And not here. Come on.”

 

In the end, however, Barnum got his way. Even with W.D. mostly carrying him, Barnum couldn’t get his legs to support him once he was upright.

 

“Dizzy,” he answered Anne’s worried queries, clinging to W.D.’s arms like he was being buffeted by a strong wind. “Everything’s…”

 

“Woah, Barnum…” W.D. grabbed him even tighter when he pitched, and Anne heard Barnum’s breathing pick up speed again. “Barnum.”

 

Barnum tried to reply, but even the light of the half moon showed Anne how tightly his face was screwed up in pain and discomfort. Her brother saw it, too, and muttered a curse under his breath. Then he pulled more of Barnum’s weight into his arms and, at glacial pace, helped Barnum to a patch of long grass. Even though he lowered Barnum gently, the older man still groaned a little.

 

“I suppose we _are_ staying out here tonight, then,” W.D. told Anne. “Could you watch him while I go and fetch some things? There are extra blankets and such that I can bring out here.”

 

Anne nodded and dropped once again beside Barnum, a full cup of water in her hands. Barnum was breathing deliberately beside her, and she closed her eyes and listened to the night and tried not to be afraid. When Barnum was breathing properly once more, Anne coaxed him onto a shaky elbow so he could drink the next cup of water.

 

“You should… You and W.D. should go and – ”

 

“Neither of us are going to listen to any of your humbug, so you may as well save your breath,” Anne interrupted him, sternly. “We’re staying here with you. _Both_ of us. It’s too late for me to walk back alone, and I’m not sleeping near all those men alone and W.D. is _not_ going to leave you alone, either. Mr Barnum, your heart could have _stopped_ ,” she said, when Barnum once again tried to protest. At the reminder, her fingers automatically curled around his wrist. “We’re _not_ leaving you.”

 

Barnum was quiet until W.D. returned, arranged all he’d brought, hauled the pail of water over and then settled beside Anne, boxing her in safely between himself and Barnum. And then, quietly, Barnum said, “I’m sorry.”

 

Anne saw her brother startle and look down at Barnum, probably confused. And then she heard him sigh. She couldn’t read much of the look he sent her way, but she knew him well enough to know he was thinking the same thing she was.

 

“Apology accepted,” W.D. said, calmly. “On the condition you’re never foolish enough to push yourself like this again.”

 

“That’s not – ”

 

“We know,” Anne assured him, lying against her brother’s side and playfully digging her elbow into him as she had when they were children. “But that’s the only thing that you _need_ to apologise for. The rest of it… you’re family, Mr Barnum. Now… didn’t you want to go to sleep?”

 

Barnum huffed an exhausted, near-humourless laugh. “But… Charity and Phillip…”

 

“We’ll send word to them with the boy who brings the milk. First thing in the morning,” W.D. said. “Now go to _sleep_.”

 

Barnum didn’t need any more convincing. Anne drifted off surprisingly quickly as well, waking up to some noise of the summer night that was not startling enough to make sleep lose its full grip on her. She rolled over blearily to check on Barnum and found him still dead to the world. W.D. had curled one of his arms around Anne’s head so that his fingers could rest against the side of Barnum’s neck. Checking. Just in case. But Barnum’s breathing was deep and easy, and Anne found herself smiling as she curled up once again and returned to sleep.


End file.
